


A Matter of Asking

by forthegreatergood



Series: A Matter of Asking [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:38:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forthegreatergood/pseuds/forthegreatergood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint exercises an unlisted option in SHIELD’s benefits package.</p>
<hr/><p>Formal training had involved an entire section on not getting sexually involved with assets.  Practice had involved a five-minute lecture on keeping assets happy and properly motivated in a high-stress environment.  Handlers were encouraged to cultivate a certain ‘flexibility’ when it came to assets’ ‘personal needs’ to help compensate for the rigidity of the division’s mission requirements.  With Hill’s staccato delivery and no-nonsense tone, they’d barely counted as euphemisms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Asking

**Author's Note:**

> All characters property of Marvel.
> 
> Not beta-read. Please post any noticed errors in the comments, and they'll get fixed.

“Something to report, agent?” Phil asked, his office door halfway ajar and his hand resting on the knob. The stack of manila folders tucked under his arm could wait a few minutes, assuming Clint couldn’t.

“It’s a bit sensitive, sir. I think the debriefing ought to occur in private,” Clint answered, a smirk flickering into life and vanishing so quickly that Phil would have doubted its existence if it had been any other agent.

He stifled the urge to shake his head and led the archer into the office.

“Subtle as a grenade, Barton,” he grunted after the door was safely closed and locked. 

“But just as effective, sir,” Clint replied with a grin, lounging against the jamb.

Phil tossed the folders into his in-box and crossed his arms. “Is this about your performance evaluation? Because you’re not going to qualify for an overall ‘exemplary’ rating until you start bringing your equipment back intact at least 51% of the time, and pouting isn’t going to change that.”

Clint rolled his eyes, his smile taking on a bit of an edge. “It’s about my next mission, sir.”

“I see. What about it, then?” Phil asked. This was practically a script at this point, right down to the way Clint’s shoulders tensed and his eyes narrowed, like he was waiting for some sign that he’d be rebuffed.

“I’m feeling a little...nervous. Jittery.”

“Is that so, agent?”

Formal training had involved an entire section on not getting sexually involved with assets. Practice had involved a five-minute lecture on keeping assets happy and properly motivated in a high-stress environment. Handlers were encouraged to cultivate a certain ‘flexibility’ when it came to assets’ ‘personal needs’ to help compensate for the rigidity of the division’s mission requirements. With Hill’s staccato delivery and no-nonsense tone, they’d barely counted as euphemisms.

“I could use _something_ to take my mind off it,” Clint said. He closed the distance between them and paused, his gaze searching. They’d gone through this dance just short of a dozen times now, and somehow Clint always seemed to expect a refusal at every turn.

Phil let his arms fall to his sides and tried to relax. He wasn’t sure precisely what Clint got out of these encounters that he couldn’t get somewhere else, from someone else. Phil could speculate, of course. Just the certain way Clint inflected ‘sir’ during these sessions had generated a short-list of likely answers. What he got out of it was--officially--a happy and properly motivated asset. Unofficially, Barton was beautiful, signatory to an impressive stack of non-disclosure agreements, and one of the most effective field agents he’d ever had the pleasure of watching work. It was occasionally difficult to let him take the lead without a conscious recollection of the power imbalance between them. If anything happened, it happened on Clint’s terms and at Clint’s pace. But that didn’t mean a man couldn’t dream.

“Did you have something specific in mind, then?” Phil prompted.

“I did, actually.”

Then his hands were on Phil’s hips, sliding up under his jacket, and Phil let himself be pushed back against the desk. Clint leaned against him and kissed his neck, making his way from the edge of Phil’s collar to his jaw. Phil shut his eyes for a moment, his fingers curling around the edge of his desk, anchoring him. This close, Barton smelled of soap and shaving cream, and his face was soft and smooth. He had yet to turn up in this mood anything short of freshly shaved and straight from the shower, like a high-schooler on a first date.

“And what was that?” he asked quietly. Clint’s hands had migrated to his lower back, holding him firmly but not roughly, his palms warm through the thin cotton of his dress shirt. Clint’s tongue found the pulse point right behind his jaw. It took deliberate effort not to shiver at it, and his fingers tightened on the desk.

“I thought maybe a quick blowjob would do the trick, sir,” Clint purred. He leaned back, eyes questioning, and Phil mentally checked another punctuating moment of hesitation off the list. 

He pretended to consider the suggestion. “Sexual release _has_ been shown to reduce stress and stimulate optimal physiological functioning.”

“You read my report, then,” Clint chuckled. He tugged at the lapels of Phil’s jacket, coaxing him to take it off. He relented and slipped out of it, breaking away to hang it on the back of his chair. He loosened his tie while he was at it and glanced up to find Clint watching him with open lust. The archer blushed and looked away. “I...can I kiss you?”

Phil blinked, surprised. Clint had done it before, numerous times, and hadn’t asked permission verbally before any of them. It had followed the same pattern he seemed to prefer, a gesture to indicate what he wanted, then a slight retreat and hesitation to let Phil decide if he was going to indulge him. “Of course.”

The blush deepened. “I meant afterwards. Can I kiss you after you’re done? Sir.”

A deviation from the script, then. “If you like.”

“I would.” He pulled Phil back to him and mouthed at his throat. “Thank you.”

Phil tried not to get noticeably hard, splitting his attention between silently reciting the standard regulations for the distribution of office supplies and the callused fingertips caressing the length of his spine, wandering over his ribs, digging into his hips. There was cultivating a certain flexibility, and then there was cultivating a lack of professionalism. Leaving telltale stains on the front of his pants was decidedly in the latter category. Clint sucked at his earlobe. There were times, Phil thought, when the demands of the job were enough to drive him crazy. The standard regulations were losing out in favor of the teeth nipping at his ear and the hands kneading his ass.

He settled his own hands lightly on Clint’s hips, tight enough to be felt but not, he hoped, to translate into any sort of demand. Clint wrapped one arm around his waist and snaked the other around his shoulder, hand resting on the back of his neck. He brushed his lips over Phil’s and waited patiently until Phil tipped his head back in invitation.

Clint groaned when he pushed his tongue past Phil’s teeth, and Phil’s heart sped up. Clint tasted of mint, and his lips were yielding where his tongue wasn’t, and he could feel Clint’s cock, already hard and insistent as he ground slowly against him. It was difficult to talk himself out of responding in kind. Everything about Clint made him want to pull him close and match him move for move. Instead, Phil let his hands rest on the small of Clint’s back, keeping his touch carefully light, encouraging but not ordering. Clint responded immediately, rutting against him more firmly and tightening his embrace. However much he was adhering to a routine they’d established, he was showing more need than usual. Phil was beginning to lose himself in the warm depths of his mouth when he pulled back, his eyes dark and his lips swollen.

“I think,” he panted, “I think I’m ready for that blowjob, sir.”

“Are you, now?” Phil replied, trying to keep his voice steady. Clint was still clinging to him and showed no sign of releasing him. His lips quirked up. “You might want to consider letting go if that’s the case, Barton.”

“I...yeah.” Clint dropped his hands and took a half-step back so that he was resting against the desk.

“You all right, Barton?” he asked softly. Slate blue eyes met his for a brief moment before dropping again, and Phil swallowed thickly. He wondered if his own expression sometimes betrayed the same mix of hunger and caution. The way Clint looked at him was blatantly predatory often enough that he knew they were both navigating the same tangle of what was wanted, what was needed, and what could be asked for. The only difference was the handicap they were under.

“It’s just been a while is all,” Clint murmured, his hands trembling almost imperceptibly as they moved to his belt buckle. He cleared his throat and shook himself. After a few seconds, he seemed to have regained his composure. “Think I could get a hand with this, sir?”

“Having difficulty with the equipment, Barton?”

Expected answer, expected response. Phil waited for the space of a heartbeat, waited until Clint flashed a decidedly filthy smirk at him, then slid to his knees.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Clint muttered, his breath catching when Phil unbuckled the belt and unbuttoned his slacks. His cock was straining at his fly. “I think you’ll find the equipment in perfect working order, sir.”

He bit back a groan when Phil tugged the zipper down, slow and easy half because Clint never wore boxers when he turned up looking for this and half because Clint was lovely when he was so close to the edge. It seemed like every time he asked for this, Phil had him halfway to coming just by saying yes. His cock was barely free when Phil took the tip between his lips, running his tongue over the glans and drawing a low, frantic moan from his subordinate. Phil pushed the fabric out of the way completely and kept his tongue moving as Clint’s fingers brushed through his hair. He knew from experience that if he looked up, he’d find Clint watching him raptly. And that if he held the eye contact for any length of time, Clint would come approximately five seconds after he broke it.

Phil hummed and felt a surge of satisfaction when Clint’s fingers tightened, curling briefly before letting go again. He took Clint deeper into his mouth and sucked gently, making the man groan and mutter something barely coherent. Clint’s length was heavy and slick on his tongue, and he worked his lips around it. Clint bucked slightly before stilling himself, a whimpered “Jesus!” the only other indication of his rapidly dissolving control. Phil ignored it and pulled back to flick his tongue over his slit before making his way languidly back down the shaft. He repeated the motion a few times before Clint’s hands were suddenly on the back of his head, prodding him closer for a second before going slack again.

“Please,” Clint begged. “I swear to god I’ll never break or lose another requisition again, just _please_.”

Phil looked up at him, an electric thrill running through him at the sight of Clint so absolutely desperate. The pleading look on Clint’s face shifted to something halfway between bliss and pain when Phil locked eyes with him and bobbed his head, letting Clint’s cock slide down his throat. He closed his eyes deliberately and swallowed. Clint sounded like he’d been shot when he came, clutching at Phil’s shoulder and all but doubling over. Phil swallowed again, trying to keep up until Clint jerked away, leaving a hot white smear on his chin.

He moved to wipe his face on the back of his hand and then Clint was hauling him to his feet and pulling him close and kissing him hard, all question and hesitation and gentleness gone for the space of a minute. When he let go, it was back in full force, his customary sated grin in hiding until he was back on surer ground.

“Was that...okay?”

Phil nodded, too dazed to trust his voice. He tried to ignore the persistent throbbing of his cock where it rubbed against his waistband, any thought of waiting until he got home to jerk off bludgeoned out of existence by the lingering feel of Clint’s lips on his mouth. Clint relaxed, the urgency bleeding out of his frame, and kissed him again. This was a tamer thing, and Phil let him take his time, his hands back on Clint’s hips and a small section of his brain dedicated to resisting the urge to rut against him. Clint looked almost shy when he broke away, blushing faintly as he zipped up and tucked his shirt back in. Phil wiped his face and gave him a shrewd glance.

“No more broken or lost inventory, huh?” he asked. Clint flushed brightly.

“I don’t think I can be held to that,” he coughed. “Heat of the moment and all.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was wondering if...um.” Phil arched an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. “Nothing. Never mind. I’ll, uh, see you at the briefing, then?” Clint asked, the set of his shoulders and the scarlet flush on his cheeks making Phil wonder exactly what he’d wanted to ask. He didn’t press the issue. He’d ask whatever it was when he was ready.

“Of course, Barton.”

Clint let himself out, and Phil barely gave the door enough time to latch before he was undoing his own belt.

* * *

“You chickened out again, didn’t you?” Bobbi asked, not looking up from her report. Clint glowered at her.

“It’s not that easy,” he sighed.

“Sure it is. You just open your mouth and say ‘Hey, how ‘bout I suck your dick for once?’ Easy peasy lemon squeezy.”

“And people say I’m blunt.”

She snorted. “Okay, look. You somehow found the balls to ask him to go down on you. You have, in fact--and please do not correct me if my numbers are off, because contrary to popular belief, there is still such a thing as TMI around here--been continuing to find the balls to ask him to go down on you about once a month since then. That, to me, seems like that first question would be the hardest part. Everything after that? Not so much.”

“I don’t want to screw this up, Bobbi.”

“Did I miss the part where you want him to dress up like a Disney princess while you get him off? Because getting head is really not that far off of giving head. He may say no, but I don’t see him being terminally offended by the very request.”

“I’ll ask him next time.”

“If he says yes, I really, really don’t want to hear about it. Especially in the context of you not knowing why you waited so long to ask him, because the answer is going to be that you’re an idiot.”

Clint groaned. “Stop helping, Bobbi.”


End file.
